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In a lot of ways, kids make Halloween more fun. But, like everything else, they also make it much, much worse.

For example, last night, as part of our month of scary movies, instead of watching something legit like Let The Right One In (the original FTW!) or The Conjuring, we watched Hocus Pocus. (Which was much scarier, for totally unintentional reasons.)

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At some point we ended up on a breakfast cruise, and there are pictures of me there, cherub-faced and smiling wide, surrounded by Mickey and Minnie, Chip and Dale, Cinderella, and assorted other Disney characters. I don’t remember it, but I’ve seen pictures, and I have no doubt it was one of the happiest days of my life. (We visited Disneyland too, but come on. There’s a reason all the pictures from that trip are from Universal Studios.)

I worshiped Disney as a kid. My five-year-old has no idea what Disney is.

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Every weekend, we have a movie night with my picky five-year-old, and we watch a movie of his choice (please choose Star Wars, please choose Star Wars!) and eat some pie. Already, pizza is being connected to some of his favorite nights, and that’s a good thing.

Many of my childhood memories of food are negative, due to my parents’ unrelenting insistence on making me eat vegetables I despised. But there are a few positive associations, and many of them involve pizza. I mean, how can you have a bad time when pizza is involved?

Please, allow me to feed your #pizzastalgia with this heartwarming story from my youth…